“… private safe… personal security… how dare you… code was for emergencies only…”
“… not bloody fair! You never let me have anything!”
It’s Diamanté’s voice, and it’s getting closer. On instinct, I dart behind a chair and sink down, my knees trembling. The next moment she strides into the hall, wearing a strange asymmetrical pink miniskirt and a teeny-tiny T-shirt.
“I’ll buy you a necklace.” Uncle Bill comes striding in after her. “That’s no problem. Tell me what you need, Damian will find it-”
“You always say that!” she shrieks at him. “You never listen! That necklace is perfect! I need it for my next Tutus and Pearls show! My whole new collection is based on butterflies and insects and stuff! I’m a creative , in case you hadn’t realized-”
“If you’re so creative, my love,” says Uncle Bill with a sarcastic edge, “why have I hired three designers to work on your dresses?”
For a moment I’m gobsmacked. Diamanté uses other designers? The next minute I can’t believe I didn’t work that one out before.
“They’re… fucking … assistants!” she screams back. “It’s my vision! And I need that necklace-”
“You’re not using it, Diamanté.” Uncle Bill’s voice is ominous. “And you’re never going in my safe again. You’re going to give it back to me right now-”
“No, I’m not! And you can tell Damian to fuck off, he’s a git.” She runs up the stairs, closely followed by Sadie.
Uncle Bill looks so furious, it’s as though he’s not quite in possession of his faculties. He’s breathing heavily and thrusting his hands through his hair as he gazes up the grand staircase. He looks so uncool and out of control, I almost want to giggle.
“Diamanté!” he shouts. “You come back here!”
“Fuck off!” comes a distant cry.
“Diamanté!” Uncle Bill starts to stride up the stairs himself. “That’s it. I won’t have this-”
“She’s got it!” Sadie’s voice is suddenly in my ear. “She’s taken it! We need to catch her! You go round the back. I’ll guard the front stairs.”
With scrambling legs I get to my feet, run back down the passage, through the laundry room, and out onto the lawn. I sprint breathlessly around the house, not caring if anyone sees me-and stop dead in dismay.
Shit .
Diamanté is in a black, open-top Porsche, heading down the gravel at speed toward the front gates, which are hastily being opened by the security guard.
“Noooo!” I wail before I can stop myself.
As Diamanté pauses to exit, she flicks a V-sign back at the house and the next minute is out on the street. In her other hand I can just see Sadie’s necklace, wrapped around her fingers, glinting in the sunshine.
THIRTEEN
There’s only one possibility: They’re not rhinestones, they’re diamonds. The necklace is studded with rare antique diamonds and worth millions of pounds. It’s got to be that. There’s no other reason I can think of that Uncle Bill would be so interested in it.
I’ve Googled all sorts of websites on diamonds and jewelry, and it’s amazing what people will pay for a 10.5-carat D-color diamond mined in 1920.
“How big was the biggest stone in the necklace?” I say yet again to Sadie. “About.”
Sadie sighs noisily. “Half an inch or so?”
“Was it very sparkly? Did it look flawless at all? That could affect its value.”
“You’re terribly interested in the value of my necklace all of a sudden.” Sadie gives me a resentful look. “I didn’t think you were so mercenary.”
“I’m not mercenary!” I say indignantly. “I’m just trying to work out why Uncle Bill was after it! He wouldn’t waste his time unless it was valuable.”
“What difference does it make if we can’t lay our hands on it?”
“We will lay our hands on it.”
I have a plan, and it’s a pretty good one. I’ve been using all my detective skills in the few days since we got back from Uncle Bill’s house. First of all, I found out about Diamanté’s next Tutus and Pearls catwalk show. It’s this Thursday at the Sanderstead Hotel, 6:30 p.m., private guest list. The only trouble was, I couldn’t see Diamanté putting me on the private guest list in a million years, bearing in mind I’m not a photographer from Hello! or one of her celebrity chums or have four hundred quid to spend on a dress. So then came my master stroke. I emailed Sarah in a friendly way and said I’d really like to support Diamanté in her fashion venture and could I come and talk to Uncle Bill about it? Maybe I would just drop over to the house on spec, I suggested. Maybe tomorrow!!! And I added a few smiley faces for good measure.
Sarah immediately emailed back that Bill was a little busy right now and I shouldn’t come tomorrow, but she could talk to Diamanté’s personal assistant. And the next thing I knew, two tickets were biked to my door. Honestly, it’s so easy to get what you want from people if they think you’re a psycho.
The only downer is that the second and crucial part of my plan-talk to Diamanté and persuade her to give me the necklace straight after the show-has failed so far. Her assistant won’t tell me where she is or give me her mobile phone number. She did allegedly pass on a message, but obviously I haven’t heard anything. I mean, why would Diamanté bother to call her nonentity of a nonmillionaire cousin?